Draconic Awakening

Ragnar found it hard to keep his focus as he watched the mighty behemoth, the King Predator, the Grade Two Dreadling... the Ice Tiger enclose the space between them.

It walked with some sort of sinister pride, its claws clawing deeply into the ice as it took each step, and Ragnar meanwhile watched.

He had run his mind through all he could do; however, there was something wrong with every plan he could muster. And that was his inability to move.

So, with no more choices left, Ragnar watched, eyes filled with contempt and a forced smile on his expression, wondering what death—getting torn to shreds—would feel like.

No good thoughts came though; it was almost too horrible to visualize.

But... just when the King Predator stepped a foot closer to Ragnar, something very strange seemed to happen.

The mighty Grade Two Dreadling was startled, jerking its head all around and then down to the ground beneath in haste.

These surreal movements did not go unnoticed by the young Lord as he strained his gaze at the monster, its eyes fixed on the ground instead of him for a reason.

And the thing that happened next jolted both the mighty beast and the young Lord.

Out from the ground emerged a pool of obsidian seething oil underneath the Dreadling, consuming its entire shadow within the mere fraction of a second.

And what happened next sealed the monster's fate.

The oil beneath the beast surged violently, and out burst several mighty chains, tying around the limbs and neck of the Dreadling with a sickening force that sent a cracking noise into the vicinity.

The monster jerked violently at the chains, leaping into the air and thrashing around with all the force it could muster to escape. Still, this was not possible.

Its escape was impossible. Whatever made the black oil seemed almost impenetrable and was able to seamlessly hold down the strength of a Grade Two Dreadling without breaking or giving signs of struggle.

This gave Ragnar a gnawing feeling.

'What in hell is that?' he asked himself, watching the struggle between the chains and the King Predator for a while. And after a short period of time, something finally happened: the monster seemed to be bleeding from the parts the chains had wrapped around, azure blood running down its neck and limbs.

What happened next made Ragnar's eyes widen.

The chains that strapped tightly to most parts of the King Predator began to pull at it—not down or in the same direction, but in different directions: its neck being pulled forward, its left hand to the left, right hand to the right, its legs backwards.

Ragnar's mouth fell wide agape, watching the gruesome sight of the monster getting pulled apart to pieces.

'Oh God! What the hell is this?' Ragnar shook his head slightly, watching the beast being ripped apart, and when each of its body parts was separated from the main body, a loud thud could be heard as parts of the Dreadling started to drop to the ground, staining the snow with azure fluid.

The Realmbeast, King Predator—was dead.

{Congratulations, you have killed a Grade Two Dreadling}

Ragnar's gaze flickered at the notification in shock. 'Me, kill it? No, that's not possible. I didn't even raise a meaningful battle against it.'

He tried to be logical; still, there was only one explanation for what had just happened, and Ragnar was staring at it now, in awe.

The pool of oil that had been under the long predator started to draw closer to him, bubbling enigmatically, its shape changing as it drew closer.

And when it was finally close, the oil had taken a different, more disturbing shape and finally latched onto the legs of the young Lord.

It was his shadow... No, not his shadow, it was not Fang Zhen's shadow, not Ragnar's shadow—but the strange phenomenon that had become a part of him during his transmigration.

And out of all the enigmatic shadows, it was the prisoner—the lowly shadow that assumed the silent type and never left Ragnar's feet for even once.

Who would have thought it had the ability to kill a Dreadling—a Grade Two at that? Who would have even thought his shadows could interact with the physical world?

Ragnar let out a sigh, and then a slow, heavy chuckle escaped his lips. "I should have known... You were the one that helped me break the ice that day."

He lingered for a moment, and then he padded into the shadow of the prisoner, who simply stood swaying and remaining serene about the matter.

This made much more sense to Ragnar now. 'The dancer can scout, the prisoner can interact with the physical, and the writer... can name?' The clues to his inherited shadows still did not match completely; he still needed more information before he acted any further.

"But I owe you my thanks," Ragnar forced a smile and said.

The prisoner bowed his head in respect and then went back to his swaying. Not just him, but the other shadows—all of them—simply went back to their usual habits as though Ragnar was not at the brink of death or had just escaped its clutches.

But he wasn't—he was nowhere close to being safe.

Sitting in the domain of frigid ice, having lost a great amount of blood... his situation wasn't looking nice.

Even with his healing capabilities, there was still a chance he would die from his blood loss.

Those probabilities still stood better than getting eaten by a savage Realmbeast. So he made sure to be comfortable in his current conditions—which was impossible, being in intense agony.

But there was something else Ragnar did not expect that began to happen to his body. His eyes—they felt heavy; his body felt numb and heavy to move...

'Fight it, damn it! Shit!' Ragnar thought, feeling his consciousness slowly slip away from him, his eyes shutting on themselves, and then he was welcomed to the comforting arms of sleep.